


Always You

by A_Boy_Named_Mike



Series: Scars Are Souvenirs You Never Lose [2]
Category: Naruto, The Dark Artifices Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, M/M, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-13 02:17:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20166514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Boy_Named_Mike/pseuds/A_Boy_Named_Mike
Summary: Prompts:Modern with magic AUandSoulmates(fromMadaTobi Week 2019).





	Always You

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts: _Modern with magic AU_ and _Soulmates_ (from **[MadaTobi Week 2019](https://madatobiweek.tumblr.com/post/182718063236/madatobi-week-2019)**).

_"I think I could sleep in the bed if you stayed with me."_

Madara says this, and Tobirama feels his breath still.

There is so much in the burn of Madara's eyes. So much in the part of his lips, the shape of his words. Words that recall memories of the Hunt, the way their bodies effortlessly fit against each other. Solace in each other's arms, for it was them, and _only_ them, in the world.

Kushina leaves the room and Tobirama does nothing to stop her.

He gathers Madara into his arms. His hands are gentle. His mouth is not.

He kisses Madara, fierce, wanting. Feels Madara gasp against his mouth, kissing back just as fiercely.

They fall upon the bed. Tobirama's hands upon Madara's face, caressing. His tongue is a welcomed intruder between Madara's lips. He has missed this. The curve of Madara's lips. The familiarity of his tongue. The heat and taste of him.

It is more than a kiss. It is an affirmation, a confession, absolution. It is want that drives him. _Real_ want, without the need and loneliness and desperation that drove them into each other's company in the Hunt.

They part for breath. They lie there, staring at each other. Tobirama looks upon Madara and his heart fills with so much tenderness, it is almost painful. He brushes Madara's hair from his forehead. Traces the curve of his heated cheek. The soft skin along his jaw. His neck, and the elf-bolt that rests against his chest.

_"I want you,"_ Tobirama says. "I would _always_ want you, even if I never needed you at all."

Madara's eyes widen. A sound escapes him, heavy with yearning and relief and love.

Tobirama drinks it from his lips.

  


* * *

  


He kisses the scars upon Madara's back. Learns the topography of them with his eyes, his lips, his tongue, his hands. He knows every mark upon his lover's body. It is only natural that he knows these too.

_Marks of valor,_ Kushina had said.

Tobirama feels his heart ache. Rage fuels the violent beat of it. Rage that Madara had been hurt. That Mito and Hashirama's pain had been forced upon him.

_It should never have happened this way,_ Tobirama thinks, lips against the angry lashes marring Madara's skin.

He feels Madara shiver beneath him. Soft gasps fill the room. Pleasure amid pain. Relief amid guilt.

He is glad that Inabi is dead.

  


* * *

  


He craves Madara even as he has him.

Tobirama presses his cock against Madara, pushes inside him, mad with want.

He would never stop wanting this. There is no force in this world, in Faerie, in Edom or Thule or any Hell that can cease this desire that runs blood-hot within the depths of Tobirama's soul.

Madara is _his,_ only and always.

Madara's arms and legs around him.

Tobirama fits within the curl of them, the way he fits inside Madara like their bodies were crafted with each other in mind. His hips form a languid rhythm. He wants Madara to feel this, every inch of him, every moment of _them._

Madara's cries are soft, sweet things upon Tobirama's lips. His kisses are caresses, gentle and urgent, harsh and loving, like his hands that are rough and careful upon Madara's broken skin.

So many scars. So much familiarity. Tobirama's palm against Madara's ribs, his hip, his cock.

Madara cries out, arching into Tobirama's touch. His cock is wet, fever-hot within Tobirama's grip. His body is a beautiful, pliant thing. The dark of his hair. The flush of his skin. The scars, old and new, upon it.

There is a deep ache in Tobirama's soul. He aches for the guilt, the hurt, the loneliness Madara has been forced to endure.

They both know pain. It is what drew them together, filling the cracks in each other's souls.

Madara is so tight around him. Tobirama thrusts hard, frenzied. Drowns himself in the scent and sensation of Madara, and thinks them lucky to be so broken.

  


* * *

  


They lie in a bed that belongs to neither of them.

Tobirama marvels at the strangeness of it, how it is not strange to be here, in the Institute he can no longer call home, blood and death in the past, danger besmirching their future.

He looks at Madara, curled against him, lips gently parted. Madara's breaths upon his neck. His hand upon Tobirama's heart, upon the place where his elf-bolt used to rest.

Within Tobirama's chest, a deep swell of desire. To protect Madara. From the wrath of his father. The blinding, scorching, unwarranted hate. From his brothers. The Cohort and the Clave. The world and their uncertain future.

But there is one thing that is certain. One that remains true.

There is no world, no circumstance that could keep them from each other.

And _this,_ Tobirama knows.

If the threads of his life had been different, he would have found his way to Madara. Would have chosen him, always.

He kisses a smile upon Madara's crown. "You are my heart."

He says this and knows himself home.


End file.
